


Dream Me To Life

by RebelDrFerguson



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Awkward dork, Dreaming, F/M, Smut, sofa sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelDrFerguson/pseuds/RebelDrFerguson
Summary: Peter really is your DREAM man. Literally. Though even dream men aren't all made of dreams. 'You then notice he's shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but his acid washed jeans so low on his hips that his boxer briefs are covering more of his 'parts' than they are'





	1. The Dream Man

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is not to be taken seriously. Peter's married, we know and it stays that way, this is all for the sake of fangirl fun and trust me HE KNOWS THAT.

It's been the second worse day at work this week, and you're getting tired of grumpy customers who can't read the fucking notice boards, stating they can't return underwear.   
You throw your stuff down on the kitchen table and flick on the kettle with a frustrated sigh. Your back hurts from working in the warehouse all afternoon unpacking the new season wear and all you want now is to relax on the sofa with a cuppa and watch your favorite Doctor Who's. 

You head upstairs and pull yourself free of your work uniform. You grab a pair of warm jogging bottoms and a make for a t-shirt before changing your mind and grabbing Peter's discarded shirt from the previous day. It smells heavily of him, coffee and a deeply toned aftershave that you got an odd natural high from. 

Your boyfriend's not home yet. It's a few weeks into recording the new season so you guessed he'd be not here when you got home.

Heading back downstairs you grab the biscuit tin and your cuppa before settling in front of the TV. 

As you sit down on the sofa you notice your both a bit late home. It's now past 6 in the evening and you reach for your phone to check if he's sent a message.

Nope.

You check his Instagram. No update. 

His facebook? 

Nope, the last update was at Christmas. 

Tossing the phone aside you grab the remote and flick through the Iplayer. 

Now, what do you watch...Ou, Mummy on the Orient Express. Perfect. 

After eating more than your fair share of biscuits with that mug of tea, you fall into a lovely warm cat nap snuggled on the sofa comforted his shirt.  
You awake much later feeling a hand in your hair. You blink several times before recognizing the handsome bearded scot who sat beside you on the sofa. It's a late summer evening and room is now awash in a beautiful red and golden haze as the sun sets. 

As Peter see's you wake up he leans and kisses you gently before standing and making for the kitchen door. You then notice he's shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but his acid washed jeans so low on his hips that his boxer briefs are covering more of his 'parts' than they are. Suddenly the rooms warm and all you can think of his how much you want to feel him on top of you. He turns and casually leans on the door frame, a smirk on his face like he can read your mind.

"Hey, Dinner's in the oven..." he purrs and you find yourself lacking a response, the view of him there by the door, the golden light on his sculpted body, the way it makes his hair glitter has your breath taken away. 

You're not hungry really. Well, you are, but for something else entirely.

As if on command he's moving back towards you and you lay back, his shirt accenting the view of your breasts as you forgot to button it, your spreading your legs on quiet command as he climbs over the arm rest like some huge silver panther and lays between them, his large hands caressing up your thighs up to the hem of the shirt to tug on the buttons you had done, his sparkling blue eyes roaming your chest with unspoken lust.

He leans down and grazes your neck ever so slightly with his beard, you're unable to stop the sound that escapes at the rough contact and he's chuckling. A deep rumbling sound from his chest that send waves of heat rushing to your center. 

You lean up and flick your tongue under his ear and he growls dropping his weight on you, you're grinding your hips against him, becoming more and more desperate for his attention. 

"All in good time sweetheart..." he smiles and slides down your body kissing his way lower and pulling open the shirt. He eyes you with such a hunger that you wish you could feel it. 

Licking his lips he hooks his long elegant fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and pulls them down, the thin white lace underwear has no way of protection you from his nimble hands now. 

You're locked to his eyes as he leans in and licks a hot line across your clit. The sensation of tongue and stubble give you such a rush of arousal that your eyes betray you and shut as your back arches into the touch. He can play your body like some fine musical instrumental and you know it's a rare talent.   
He assaults your clit till your begging to be fucked. Your pulling off your shirt and reaching for him and he laughs pushing him up to let you pull at the denim around hips and he hisses through his teeth as your graze your nails over the evident bulge in the briefs. 

"Babe..."

You stop and look up. His lips hadn't moved. you're about to pull the material down but it's like someone pressed paused on a DVD and your frozen. 

"You home honey?" 

 

You hear it louder. Peter's calling you.


	2. The Real Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime's reality IS better than dreams...

You open your eyes to find yourself still on the sofa. Still curled up and the I player sat on the home screen having played both episodes you'd saved. 

You hear a bump and muffled curse. 

A huff and another muffled string of curses that anyone would say were Mr Tucker coming in.

You stay still trying to piece together what just happened. 

Nothing. 

You'd been dreaming. 

You huff yourself as your sit up and look around, the room is almost dark, the very last hints of the sun setting are flittering through the blinds. 

A clearing of a throat catches your attention and you turn to see Peter stepping into the doorway, shirtless and in nothing but his acid washed jeans with the rip in the knee.   
He suddenly slightly older than the dream, the beard is more 5 o'clock shadow and the finely sculpted body is more lean, wiry and perfect in its own way rather than your dreamed ideas. 

He catches sight of the open shirt bearing your breasts and it must have shocked him as he almost trips on the hem of his jeans trying to move and lean on the door frame, the awkwardness of his almost school boy stare has you biting your lip and fighting a giggle. 

"He-Hey...I put the pies in the oven..." he mutters running a hand through his thick silver curls. If there was anything you loved about Peter, it was his cooking. He loved to cook and he'd pre-made those pies the day before and you'd planned a nice romantic dinner tonight. 

You glance about thinking for a moment before laying back on the sofa like in the dream. Maybe...

His stare becomes more heated and lustful as you pull off the shirt, teasing. "Need me to do anything?"

You know he'll say no and smile when he shakes his head. 

"You look a bit tense?" you say casually as if he isn't usually wound up about something. 

He sighed and ruffles his hair with both hands now. "Urgh, Long script meetings..."

He comes to stand by the armrest of the sofa and gazes down on you. You can tell he's thinking to climb over, but he knows his own track record for bad moves, so steps around and you reach up to pull him over you as he kneels between your thighs. 

"Missed you..." you breath as he leans in to kiss you sweetly. The kiss goes from sweet to hard and too messy and breathless in a but a few moments and you have tear your lips away to gain oxygen.

He growls and nuzzles your neck on purpose with his stubble to make you gasp. Damn you love the feeling, just hate the marks. 

He nips a sweet spot on your throat and you whimper hoping to convey your needs without having to speak .

"Say it..." he teases leaning down to pay attention to your right nipple. You gasp again and lean up into his touch. You bite hard on your bottom lip and moan.  
"say...it..." Peter has a want for power and he knows when you're getting dirty he has all the power over you. He wants you to say his name, he wants you to give in and beg. 

You shake your head again as he moves to tease the other nipple now. 

You're getting wet quickly and he's not even touching you where you want him.

"Say...it" he growls in your ear shuffling himself so he can pull on your jogging pants. 

You still refuse and you can feel him smirking without having to look. 

A slight fumble and he has to sit up to remove the offending thick material that was restricting his access to your legs. He sits back on his heels and rests your legs on his shoulders. The shadows give the room a cooling and secretive feeling. 

When he guesses your still not going to do as your told, he turns his head to kiss down your calf ever so lightly and sensation rushes up your legs pooling in your knickers. your moving again lifting your hips giving him wordless access to your center as he pulls aside the thin material and blows teasingly on your folds.  
Flashbacks of the dream being to play in your head and your fading out.   
the sofa is suddenly too small to work with and as slides a finger inside you, your lost to his hands. Your arms flail and your grasping the cushions fighting back moans that would alert the neighbours.   
He's so close to that one spot now, your wriggling and he's holding out. You need this. you know you need this. But you're not willing to beg just yet. 

He's playing you now like a cat would a mouse, his smile is practically feral as his eyes darken in lust and his jeans are doing nothing to hide the bulging erection he's now sporting. The grey cotton of his briefs shows the damp spot evidence of his own desperation to take you there on the loveseat. 

You don't need to beg, he just needs to make him move first. 

You move your hips just so and his fingers go that big deeper catching the spot and you let rip a moan so pornographic that if Peter had been a teenager there'd be a clear up on the aisle were his pants. 

It got the reaction it deserved his fingers slipped from you and you moan in want sitting up to wrap your arms around his shoulders as he lays back over you, his delicious weight pressing you down into the cushions and he carefully scrapes his teeth over your jugular in an unbelievable vampirism like move making you moan out again.   
You're both pushing at his jeans, fumbling and rushing to remove the last barrier between you and him.

He leans up on one arm to reach between you and pauses with his cock against your entrance. 

"Say...it"

You give in.

"Peter.....FUCK ME!"

He thrusts in deeply, a slow push that has you moaning, feeling ever inch of him inside you. Your brains so focused on him as he growls and grunts his own pleasure. He's so animalistic when he's this turned on and it just gets you there so much faster. He becomes a mass of growling weight and rough on the thrust, arms holding you tight to his chest or grasping at the sofa because otherwise, he'd be failing worse than Matt Smith on ice! 

"Uh, you're like heaven darling..." he purrs in your ear on a specifically deep thrust The deep Scottish accent tickling your whole body.

You giggle and mutter into his neck. "If I'm heaven...your God..."

He slows himself to sit up and look at you kissing you jaw.

"I'm God huh?" he smiles, that huge white grin he does before he cracks into fits of laughter.

"Yeah...because you know God's always in heaven..." 

Now he's laughing. It vibrates in his body as he pulls you closer and picks back up the pace. 

You're so close, you can feel just how wet you are without having to look and Peter grunts rolling his hips as you tighten around his cock. 

He pauses for but a split second to lift you up and the change of angle has you tumbling, screaming out his name into the night and he's moaning on top of you into your shoulder as he seeds deep in you. The warm rush has you squeezing your legs around his hips and holding him inside.

You both relax into the cushion, hot sweating and content with each other's presence. 

When the afterglow begins to fade and the world comes back into motion he's slipped from your grasp and shuffles to sit and pull up his jeans. He stands struggles for a minute to his leg back in one side of the pants and then stretches with a sigh of satisfaction.

You stay curled up on the sofa, comfy and unwilling to leave the comfort of his shirt you'd pulled back on. He smirks and turns for the kitchen where the smell of cooking is drifting in.

"Dinner then shower?" he asks pausing in the doorway. You nod smiling and his feral grin returns.

"Oh...and round 2 is on Doctor's orders"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. I'm trying to work on my RPF views so if people have any words to describe Peter that would be useful for me to use in future down them below! #ThanksForReading


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